


Cool

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But inside he was as thrilled as if he'd won the Beatrice M. Tinsley Prize for outstanding research contribution to astrophysics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool

**Author's Note:**

> For the [PrincessofG](http://princessofg.livejournal.com).
> 
> Beta by [PrincessofG](http://princessofg.livejournal.com) and [Auburnnothenna](http://auburnnothenna.livejournal.com).

John was no angel, but he loved to fly. He loved impossible heights and dangerous pitches and rolls; he'd fly right out of the atmosphere if he could, and now that he flew puddlejumpers, he often did fly right out of the thick stratum of air that layered a planet, through the Karman line and out into space, leaving everything behind.

He didn't talk much, and when he did, he didn't say much worth listening to. Just "yep" or "cool" or "hey, never saw that coming," with a crooked grin on his face or eyes opened wide. He'd worked hard to achieve his laconism, and if he'd ever practiced some of those expressions in a bathroom mirror, he'd never admit it.

He didn't touch people often. He kept his hands tucked under his arms or wrapped around the biggest weapon he could haul. Since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, he'd fucked three women on three different planets, but the sex had just happened. "Hey," he'd said, surprised. "Cool." Later he'd scratch his head, spiking his hair up even more wildly, make a puzzled face, and that was it. Some good jerk-off material, but no broken hearts, he was pretty sure.

John was a good listener, but he didn't pay much attention once he'd heard the gist of what people had to say. He knew he was stubborn, but after Afghanistan he'd decided he'd rather go down in flames than succeed on other people's terms. So he'd slouch against the wall, arms crossed, hands tucked under his arms, nodding occasionally, and when the speaker had finished, would say, "Cool," and then do what he thought was best. He listened a bit more closely to a few trusted friends, but once he'd made up his mind, he saw no reason to change it.

He'd never articulated his goals to himself, but if he were to try, they'd be something like: Protect your people. Once John had decided someone was part of his people, he would risk his life to save them. He was never happier than shooting through a wormhole, out a stargate, and into the thick atmosphere of an unknown planet for a flamboyant rescue. His eyes widened, his posture improved, and his reflexes were nothing short of impossible. Ancient equipment responded to his desires as if it was just as excited to be off-world and on a mission. New systems popped online the instant he wished for them. The puddlejumpers glowed with excited pleasure and power.

* * *

John could, Rodney decided, do anything. Once John had made up his mind, he acted, the stubborn bastard; he'd calmly stride through the corridors of Atlantis, Rodney or Lorne or even Elizabeth hurrying to keep up as he went off to do whatever it was he'd decided was the right thing. Rodney was a jealous and petty man; he knew that, even as he regretted it, but somehow he couldn't resent John because he was so very _John_. When John had selected him to be on his team, Rodney had complained frequently and loudly about being pulled away from his work, but inside he was as thrilled as if he'd won the Beatrice M. Tinsley Prize for outstanding research contribution to astrophysics. When John refused to take offense at Rodney's comments but responded in kind, his mind as quick and supple as Rodney's, he delighted in their sparring, and in watching others watch them. The Rodney-and-John show, he called it, though only to himself, and he was flattered to be one of the few people who could draw out John.

When Rodney would look up from his laptop, peering across the lab to see if there was any coffee left, but found John slouching against the entry, arms crossed, slight grin on his face, Rodney's heart would speed up. "Take her for a spin?" John might ask, meaning _you want another flying lesson?_ or "Time to try to kill me," meaning _you need to spend some time practicing in the firing range_ , or maybe just, "Hey, cool," meaning _let me touch that fine looking piece of Ancient equipment and make it do stuff_.

"Oh, all right," Rodney would snap, delighted to be called away and proud that the others saw it. Eat your hearts out, he sneered mentally. "I'll be back, and I'll be checking your work," he told his staff, but Radek merely smiled at him and Simpson positively beamed.

They'd been through so much in the two years they'd been in Atlantis: learning to fear and fight the Wraith, discovering allies and enemies, making discoveries that would rock the scientific community back on Earth. And all the while they'd been doing that, they'd been learning about each other, and learning to be the kind of people that Atlantis required them to be. Rodney discovered he was changing: he could shoot, for one thing, and fly an alien spaceship, and translate Ancient, and he'd changed in other ways, too.

He'd learned to work relatively peaceably with his fellow scientists, and not to taunt the military quite as much as he had at Area 51. He'd learned a kind of prudence and a kind of courage. He'd learned that he was a valued member of an amazing group of people, strangers who in their time in Atlantis had become his family.

He would follow John through the winding hallways, saying, "When we meet with Elizabeth next, we need to discuss finding alternate power sources for our laptops when we're off-world. It's ridiculous that we have to import batteries from Earth, not to mention dangerous to rely too much on supply runs; something might happen and then where would we be? I could develop an interface with the jumper, of course, but we need something portable, and where are we going?"

This time, John turned to look at him, still wearing that slight grin, and slid on his sunglasses. Rodney sighed hugely but continued to follow. "Also, we need to rethink our weapons. Earth weapons are so big and clunky, and yes, I know, guns are great fetish material, especially that thigh holster thingy, very sexy if you're into that sort of thing, but we need something smaller and lighter that can be better hidden but still as powerful as a P90, hey, have we been here before?"

The enormous windows opened on to a platform with wide steps leading to the ocean surrounding Atlantis. Low breakers rolled in and over the lower steps, and the air smelt almost spicy. Rodney took an enormous breath. "Wow," he said.

John smiled and handed Rodney a pair of sunglasses he obediently put on. The sun was low and left glittering paths across the surface of the ocean.

They stood quietly watching for a few minutes; then Rodney said, "Δ FSol=0.00017 x FSol."

"Why, Rodney," John drawled, smiling at him. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Ass," Rodney muttered, crossing his arms, but he couldn't help but smile back.

"Maybe," John said.

They remained standing on the steps, listening to the waters wash up and back while the sun slowly set, growing more oblate as it descended toward the horizon. At last, Rodney sighed. "I really should get back," he said, but he was reluctant to turn his back on this sight. On John.

"You're right," John said, but he didn't stir, either.

"Okay, gotta go," Rodney said again, but this time he turned. He paused, and awkwardly patted John's forearm. "Thanks."

"No problem."

He left John on the platform, each step up more difficult, until he finally stood at the top level, squinting into the windows against the glare of the reflected sun. He paused there. Rodney knew if he turned, he'd see John only dimly, the sun flaring brilliantly around him, and he knew with suddenly surety that John was now the point of origin for the topographic coordinates by which Rodney navigated his life. He shook his head, but he couldn't refute the facts.

He turned back, and John was right there; he'd silently followed Rodney up the steps. "I --" Rodney started, but, "Oh, the hell with this," he said, and kissed John, grabbing his shoulders to hold him still, then his head to angle his mouth the way Rodney wanted it, had wanted it, would always want it. "Oh, fuck," Rodney moaned into John.

John just kissed him back, laconic as always, standing hipshot and slouching, but this time against Rodney's body. I should have listened better, Rodney thought. All this time I wasted. "I'm a moron," he whispered to John, who laughed, but held Rodney tighter.

John was no angel, but neither was Rodney, and they could fly a puddlejumper right out of the atmosphere, they could shoot weapons from a dozen different worlds, they could translate Ancient, and they could speak to each other in the code of sarcasm and eye-rolls and exasperated sighs that made John smirk and Rodney stammer while Atlantis glowed more warmly around them and their friends shook their heads in amusement.

Sometimes they reversed their roles, and Rodney would cross his arms, slouch against the wall, and say, "Hey," and John would turn abruptly, and say, "Rodney, ya gotta look at this, come on, let's try it out," and they'd put their heads together, Rodney smacking John's hand, John elbowing Rodney away, and Radek would shoo them out of the lab before they broke something and Elizabeth would suggest they visit the mainland and Lorne would assure John that the city was in good and loving hands.

And Rodney would say, "Cool."


End file.
